


The Adventure of the Silver Bell

by christopher417



Category: Tommy and Tuppence - Agatha Christie
Genre: Christmas, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-23
Updated: 2012-12-23
Packaged: 2017-11-22 03:16:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/605226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/christopher417/pseuds/christopher417
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's Christmas time and, as per usual, Tuppence manages to find herself a mystery to sink her teeth into - and get Tommy involved as well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Adventure of the Silver Bell

**Author's Note:**

  * For [KannaOphelia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KannaOphelia/gifts).



> Happy Yuletide!  
> Please note that while this is a "mystery", it's not really a casefic/difficult mystery to solve in the Christie sense... it was mostly written to provide a sweet Tommy and Tuppence adventure. :)

"I just don't understand the blasted _music_ ," said Tommy Beresford, hanging his wet overcoat on the coatrack. "Have their cheer if they must but must they bombard us with that music?"

"You don't really believe a word of that," laughed his wife, Tuppence, from the couch. "I heard you singing _The First Noel_ in the shower this morning, don't try to deny it." Before he could think up an excuse she went on, "Anyway, we've got something much more important to think about. Did you see the silver bell in the lobby?"

Tommy thought back blearily to a blur of Christmas decorations and lights. "I suppose so. Francis put a lot of decorations up."

"Ah, but he _didn't put that one up_."

Tommy sighed and sat next to Tuppence on the couch. He knew the bright, slightly manic look in her eyes; she had something in her head and he wouldn't hear about anything else until she’d worked it through.

"So what do you think? It's a secret recording device, planted there by some enemy government? Or perhaps dear Francis is being monitored by the police for illicit activity?"

"Don't be silly, darling, Francis couldn't hurt a fly even if he wanted to – his rheumatism's terrible for one thing. No, I've got no idea what that bell is doing there... But mark my words, I'll have found out by Christmas."

Tommy sighed. "You do whatever you like by Christmas, my dear. But how about, for now, we content ourselves with going out for dinner sometime before midnight."

Tuppence smiled, said, "Whatever you like," and went to ready herself. But as she tapped powder onto her nose, her thoughts were with a certain decoration below, and her expression was one which, if Tommy had been watching, he would have recognised immediately. She was not going to give up on finding the owner of the bell, no matter how silly Tommy might think her quest.

. . . . .

 "Well, to tell the truth, ma'am, I don't really remember, it being a busy time of year and all. I think it was last Tuesday. No, perhaps Wednesday." The crotchety old doorman made his way down the counter to Tuppence.

"But in any case it just appeared?"

"When I got back from lunch, yes, ooh, two o'clock it must have been. I lunch at one thirty," said Francis, as if to assure her that he hadn't been extending his luncheon hours.

"And it was about here?" With a gloved hand Tuppence indicated a place on the bench.

"More like here," Francis said, pointing to the Christmas tree end.

"Hmm," said Tuppence. "May I see the bell?"

"You can have it, ma'am," said Francis. "I don't 'ave no use for it."

"Oh, we'll really, Francis - you are too kind. If anyone comes asking for it, of course, you must tell me –"

"But of course, ma’am."

Satisfied, Tuppence tucked the little bell into her bag. Then she walked out into the cold.

. . . . .

 "Ooh yes, quite a nice model,  I should think. Yes, worth a pretty penny."

"Really?" Tuppence said dubiously, looking at the thin, slightly tarnished bell with a rather pathetic blue ribbon tied around it.

"Ohh yes – been fingered a bit too much perhaps, but fairly new, I should say. And a quick look on the bottom – ah yes, this is one of Winterton's lot."

Tuppence groaned and Mrs. Allenton, the clucking old lady Tuppence had befriended when she was her favourite shop assistant in a jeweller's store, tutted sympathetically. Mr. Emmett Winterton was a very good, very respectable jeweller whose place indeed Tuppence visited quite frequently, but unfortunately along with his respectability came reticence about all matter of things, including, Tuppence strongly suspected, his customers.

"I'm sorry, dear," Mrs. Allenton said sympathetically. "I suppose the Mystery of the Bell will just have to go unsolved by Tuppence Bereford."

"Hm," said Tuppence, sipping her tea. Yes, here was where Tuppence beat her temporary retreat. But that didn't mean the mystery would remain unsolved.

. . . . .

 On Thursday, December 20th, a Mrs. Cadersthwop made her way to Winterton's Jewels. Winterton's was a spindly but sharp old man, helpfully distracted by the Christmas custom as Mrs. Cadersthwop made her way over to his young assistant. This young man was not nearly as quick as his mentor and was also rather more willing to be distracted from the demanding shoppers by the doddering old lady in front of him.

Mrs. Cadersthwop launched into a long tale of an estranged nephew who had left the bell on her doorstep as a call for amends, but undortunately no address by which to contact him. Could the young man here possibly...?

"This is definitely one of ours, I remember the man who ordered it," he said quite easily.

"Yes?" asked Mrs. Cadersthwop. "Was he - tall?"

"Oh no, rather short actually."

"We'll then that's definitely my Charlie! What name's he going by now, the silly fool? Honestly – what can you do with these young nephews? Scallywags, the lot of them." She winked conspiratorially at the young assistant.

"Er, quite, I'm sure." He flipped back through his files. "Scott. Edmund Scott."

"Well, what do you know, Edmund was my father's name! Nice to see he hasn't completely neglected his family in this latest silly phase of his. Now look, I don't suppose... The address?"

With great disinterest, the assistant rattled it off. Tuppence committed it to memory.

"Is that all?" the young man asked, eyes on a honey-haired young lady who was clearly looking for help.

"Oh, yes, yes, that will do nicely," said Mrs. Cadersthwop. She retrieved the bell from the counter and made her way out of the room, as the young lady swooped over with a gentle voice and a query that would hopefully make the man completely forget old Mrs. Cadersthwop.

. . . . .

 

"And I suppose now you propose to pay this poor fellow a visit?" asked a beleagured Tommy after hearing the whole story. He was kneeling on the hearth, stoking the fire.

"Well actually, darling, I was thinking we could go together. It would be good, I think, to have a man involved."

"Hmm." Tommy had no desire to prolong this mad quest of Tuppence's, but then again, he also didn't want her going into some stranger’s house unannounced without him to protect her. Reluctantly he said, "I'm free tomorrow afternoon, if you want to get it over with."

Tuppence's cheeks lit up in delight; not a displeasing sight, really; probably worth all the bother. "Oh, thank you, Tommy! And perhaps afterwards we could do a little Christmas shopping?"

Tommy let out a laugh that was more like a bark. "Don't push your luck."

. . . . .

 Tommy was immensely pleased he'd gone along with Tuppence when he saw the house whose address had been given by Mr. Scott. It was a ramshackle old place in a neighbourhood Tommy wouldn't like to visit at night. Mr. Scott, however, seemed perfectly together and well, if not expensively, groomed. He did not, however, look like someone who could afford to shop at Winterton's.

"Uh, hullo," he said, standing warily inside the door.

"Hello, Mr. Scott? I believe we have some property of yours," Tommy said with authority. Tuppence had proposed some bold scheme to trick him with, but Tommy preferred a more direct approach.

"Oh – uh – really? Not police, are you?" The man looked doubtfully at Tuppence.

"No, we're not police. Please may we come in? It's about this." Tommy produced a velvet box and opened its lid to reveal the bell inside.

A number of expressions passed over Mr. Scott's face, none of which Tommy could read.

"You'd better come in," he said.

Inside, it was clean but sparse. Having refused tea, they sat around the table, the box with the bell in it sitting in the centre. All three looked at it as though transfixed. Finally, Edmund Scott broke the silence:

"I suppose you're from the Hedgewood Court apartments?"

"Yes," said Tuppence. "Did you mean to leave the bell there?"

"No. Well, yes, initially. But then... Well. It's complicated, actually. Are you sure you wouldn't like any tea?"

"No thank you," said Tuppence. "I think you had better just tell us, you know. You'll feel better for it."

Mr. Scott smiled weakly. "I hope so," he said. He cleared his throat. "The bell was for my son. You might know him? His name's Douglas, I believe. He must be almost two years old now."

Tommy shook his head, but Tuppence said, " _You_ know, Tommy – that darling boy with the red cheeks."

"Yes," said Mr. Scott, smiling wistfully. "Well – I imagine you can fill in the blanks now. I wasn't married to his mother. We were both schoolteachers in the same village school. Annie's family was wealthy and her inheritance supported her moving back to London after it all happened. I have nothing but admiration for her now, but at the time... Well, at the time I wasn't so understanding."

 _Drink_ , thought Tommy. He said, "But you moved to London as well?"

"Only very recently. I know this is rather an awful place, but – well – circumstances dictate–"

"Quite," said Tommy.

Tuppence said, "So you came to London to meet your son and give him a present. But what made you leave the bell in the lobby without even a name on it?"

"I panicked. I'm not proud of it, but I was standing there in the lobby, and all these flash people coming back and forth, and I thought – well, I thought Annie wouldn't be interested in no-good, scruffy me, and I thought my son deserved better, so..." He trailed off.

Tuppence smiled, which slightly irritated Tommy. "Any woman brave enough to raise a son herself will be brave enough to handle seeing his father again," she assured him. "Come on, Tommy, I was speaking just the other day about being more neighbourly – what say we do our bit for the community and bring these two together?"

Tommy just sighed. As per usual, when it came down to it, he had very little choice in the matter. But also as per usual, if he were honest, he didn't much mind.

. . . . .

 "It's your very own Christmas miracle," Tommy said as they lay in bed, he pretending to read and her vaguely brushing her hair, the night after they had hosted a dinner to reunite Annie, Douglas and Edmund.

"Wasn't it wonderful?" Tuppence asked, laying against the pillows and smiling up at him.

"I only hope it works out," Tommy said.

"Oh, don't be such a cynic!"

"You need someone to bring you down to earth."

"Don't you go high and mighty on me! You can be just as romantic as I am."

Tommy stroked back Tuppence's hair. "I don't know if that's possible, dear, but I try."

"We'll, anyway," Tuppence said, rolling over. "I'm going to sleep. Tomorrow's Christmas Eve and we’ve a long drive out to Uncle George’s place tomorrow. I hope you dream of sugar-plums, dear."

"I hope I don’t!" said Tommy. But there was a smile on his face as he lay his head on the pillow.


End file.
